Raven (Legends Saga Book 2) (10 page)

Edgar

“I could make it all go away. I
long
to make that so.” Douglas murmured against Edgar’s ear, his rancid breath causing the young man’s nose to twitch with disgust. “All you have to do is listen to me—to
us
. Help us, Edgar, in ways we can no longer help ourselves. You do that, and your existence will instantly become far less …
dreary
.” 

Edgar’s head twitched to the side, beads of sweat forming along his hairline. He tried to stay attentive to the dinner conversation, for his father’s sake
. A task that proved increasingly difficult. Eyeballs rolling in the ice water. Maggots squirming between the tongs of his fork and all through his salad. None of it was real, he knew that. Still, it succeeded in squashing his appetite—as it always did—and made him thirst for a long pull off the freshly purchased flask in his coat.

“Are you well, son?” Father’s bushy-bearded business associate, whose name Edgar could not recall, asked between mouthfuls. “You are chasing that lettuce all around the bowl, yet have scarcely managed a bite.”

Across the table John Allen’s posture went rigid. His jaw tightening in barely concealed disapproval.

“I am, sir,” Edgar forced his gaze up to their guest, hoping
that—despite how awkward it felt—his attempt at a smile came across even a smidgeon believable. All the while he tried to wade through the murky fog of his mind for a plausible explanation. “I …
ahem
… had a rather large lun—”

Distraction
picked that moment to blow in on a gust of fresh air and jasmine. Edgar blinked hard, momentarily convinced only he could see this yellow-haired seraph before him. The low scoop neck of her emerald green gown hinting at the supple curves beneath the layers of flowing fabric.

“Ah! There you are, my darling.”
Mr. Reynolds dabbed the corners of his mouth with his cloth napkin before pushing his chair back from the table. “Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet my daughter—”

“Lenore.” The name th
e angels themselves must have dubbed this enchanting vision slipped free from Edgar’s lip before he could think to filter it. He slowly rose from the table on wobbly legs that threatened to fold beneath him.

Her head cocked with interest, she turned his way. A soft smile lifted the corner of her luscious lips as she peered at him with eyes the
exquisite violet shade of impending twilight. “That’s right,” a lilt of laughter bubbled through her tone. “And you are?”

His mouth opened to answer when a sudden rush of awareness seized in his throat in a
constricting vice grip.

Stillness
.
All around. Douglas’s unsettling presence, along with his maddening tricks and illusions, were …
gone
. No longer did the shadows across the ground elongate into disfigured ghouls shrieking his name and pawing at him with decaying fingers. Tranquility had followed this mesmerizing beauty. Peace and serenity had a name—more beautiful than any other.

“Lenore,” Edgar whispered a second time.

“Well, that will make it easy to remember.” Lenore giggled, gracing him with the full wattage of her beaming smile. “However it will be
dreadfully
confusing at gatherings of any sort.”

“Edgar,” his father injected, wiping his face before standing in greeting. “His name, w
hich seems to have eluded him, is Edgar Allen. And I am his father, John.”

“The pleasure is mine, Monsieur Allen.” Lenore offered him her hand, dipping in a slight curtsey. John dotted it with a quick kiss, then caught Edgar’s eye to silently encourage him to do the same.

A hot flush rushed to Edgar’s round face. His trembling hands racked over his unruly hair, suddenly wishing he had taken a bit more time to tame it. It probably jotted off his head like a plethora of carrot sprouts. Even so, he eagerly anticipated the offering of her hand … which failed to come. Instead, she momentarily stuck a blade into his heart by taking a step back toward the door she entered.

The blow was softened the moment she spoke. “I passed the loveliest garden off the foyer. Edgar, would you mind showing it to me? I am enamored with flowers of any sort.”

Before Edgar could trumpet his ready acceptance, Mr. Reynolds intervened. His plump chest expanding in a huff. “Lenore, you know this to be a
business
dinner. Such flights of fancy are
highly
inappropriate.”

She waved his bothersome words away with a flick of her delicate hand. “Yes, and I know that Edgar and I were only brought here to make you both appear to be upstanding family-men deserving of each other’s trust and association.”

Silence fell across the room. Each shifted foot blaring like a train-whistle. Both men in question pointedly cast their stares anywhere but at Lenore or each other. 

Biting her bottom lip to stifle a grin, Lenore attempted another tactic.

“Of course, Father, you know as a female I haven’t the sense for business.” Lenore innocently widened her eyes, her impossibly long lashes brushing her brow. Catching one cascading lock of her hair, she twirled it around her index finger. “Saddle Edgar with the task of occupying my simple mind with the lovely blooms of their garden, and I will spend the time regaling him with stories of what a kind and doting papa you are.”  

Instantly, her father’s features softened. Like so many men, he was putty to be molded by the whims of his little girl. “Of course, my dear,” he grinned, leaning in he brushed a quick peck to the tip of her nose. “Our talks will be frightfully dull for you. This is, by far, the preferable option.”

Over her father’s shoulder, Edgar watched Lenore’s expression of mock innocence sharpen with sly victory as she shot him a conspiratorial wink.  

For years
the vindictive spirits had denied Edgar the beauty of the garden, making it appear to him as nothing more than a rotted and barren wasteland. In Lenore’s presence the floral paradise had returned to him. Unable to contain his enthusiasm, Edgar released the arm linked with hers and rushed to the giant pompon puffs of the pink and blue hydrangeas. Gathering them in gentle hands, he tipped his face to inhale their sweet, but light, fragrance.

“Heaven to the senses, yet so fleeting,”
Edgar murmured. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the long pink and white petals of the stargazer lilies. Dirt and rock kicked up from under his shoes as he darted the distance to the beckoning blooms. Eagerly, he filled his lungs with their aroma. “
Mmm
, you could scour the world over and would be hard pressed to find a sweeter, more intoxicating, smell.”

Behind him, Lenore folded her hands in front of her. A small smile tugged at her
glistening lips. “Monsieur Poe, I had expected
you
to show
me
the garden, not the other way around. You do realize it is in
your
backyard? This beauty is always here for you to enjoy.”

Edgar righted his posture, yet could do nothing about the wide smile that made his cheeks ache. “Apologies, miss. The last time I frequented the gardens all I saw was …” unable to think of a suitable description he opted for the blatant truth, “… death.”

Dandelion
-yellow brows disappeared into her hairline. “Such a dreary description for the winter months! Surely, you can see some beauty in their death though?”

His heart pounding a happy rhyme against his ribs, Edgar turned his head one way then the other, not wanting to miss one leaf of his
enchanted garden restored. “In theory, I know the passing of each withered petal allows for fresh growth to take its place. Even so, I have come eye to eye with death more times than I care to admit. I shall not grant it the mercy to say beauty lies there. It only corrupts what once had been.”

Waving locks brushed her shoulder as Lenore cocked her head, her violet eyes narrowing. “I suddenly feel the conversation has shifted away from foliage.”

His cheeks blooming a matching pink to the roses beside him, Edgar cast his stare to the dirt path beneath his feet. “My apologies, Miss. Caught in the moment, I lamented.”

“Please, do not apologize.” Lenore crossed to him, her flowing skirts shushing across the ground with each step. “By the spark in your eye I see that it is a topic you hold great passion for. We should never apologize for
anything
that invokes a response of true passion. On the other hand, perhaps I could offer a fresh perspective?”

At this close proximity, where he could see the flecks of silver swirling in the violet pools of her eyes and the swell of her cleavage with each breath, Edgar predicted he would agree to anything she
required of him. “It would be my honor to hear it.” The words came out with a raspy edge. His mouth suddenly arid. 

“If I were to drop dead on this spot right this moment, how would you remember me?” Lenore tipped her face up toward his. Her heart shaped lips stretching into a playful smile.

Trepidation threatened to clamp his throat shut, denying any possible answer from escaping. Swallowing hard, Edgar forced those bothersome doubts down and seized his fleeting moment of sanity. “I would remember you as a maiden of the rarest beauty; all light and smiles that no painting or sculpture could ever compare. That your violet eyes terrified my very heart, for I knew their color to represent the purest of magic as that is what I felt whenever I had the good fortune that they be cast my way. And, of course,” he grinned, pleased with himself for the rosy flush that ascended up her slender neck at his brazen words, “I would recall that you were an expert manipulator. At least when it came to your own father.”

“See? You have made my point for me!” The trill of her laugh would have made the sweetest of songbirds envious. “In death even our flaws are raised up on golden pedestals. They are remembered as delightfully charming in our absence. All that is left is the beauty of the memory.” 

Lenore knew nothing of Edgar’s curse, yet the pure goodness that radiated from her had chased it away. As the truth of her message resonated through him, Edgar was struck by an awareness as real as the very breath in his lungs. This angelic beauty was the elixir to his particular ailment. For that, he would be her slave …
forevermore
.

9

Ridley

An opulent display of riches belonging to
the reigning king of macabre was not to be found inside Poe Cottage. Instead, Ireland was pleasantly surprised to find a cozy nest that offered the serenity and comfort needed to allow a brilliant creative mind to wander.  The hardwood floors appeared newly refinished and polished to a glossy sheen. The smell of fresh paint lingered in the air, undoubtedly from the impeccably maintained walls and trim work. The rooms were small, meant to meet needs without the excess of extravagance.

“Hello, hello!”
A white-haired woman blew into the room like a sparking storm of energy. Her vibrant red and yellow scarf, which perfectly matched her bauble earrings, flapped behind her with each of her wide, exuberant strides. “Welcome to Poe Cottage!”

“You look like my Nana.” Ridley cocked his head to consider her, his voice flat and monotone. “
Before
she came back from the dead to tell me I used to spend too much time with the bathroom door locked.”